


Babe in Boyland

by itstonedme



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-30
Updated: 2007-09-30
Packaged: 2017-11-14 23:30:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/520640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itstonedme/pseuds/itstonedme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elijah is on his own quest during LOTR filming in New Zealand.  My first fic ever.  Originally posted on LJ <a href="http://fellow-shippers.livejournal.com/3724120.html#cutid1">here</a> with reader comments.</p>
<p>Disclaimer: Lies and more lies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Babe in Boyland

“Kiss me,” Elijah slurred, eyelids fluttering shut. He lifted his chin and slid closer, messily butting his head against Orlando’s shoulder. 

“Oy!” Orli barked, distracted. He threw his arm around Elijah and drew him in. “Freaky little git,” he laughed as boozy breath gusted his face. “You are well and truly arsed tonight.” 

“Pleeeease,” Elijah whined, “kiss me.” He burrowed further into Orlando’s chest, all kittenish and content. “I jus’ wanna know what it’s like to be kissed by a guy.” He perked his chin up higher and pursed his lips.

“Lijah Lijah Lij,” Orlando crooned with a little squeeze. “Do you see that lovely lady over at the bar, the pretty blonde playing eye-footie with me?” Elijah blearily turned to stare off into the middle distance. “If I were to kiss you right now, she would not be dancing with me in three minutes nor going home with me in thirty.” 

“But Orliiii,” Elijah cried impatiently, “you kiss everybody!” And with a squeak and a sigh, he passed out directly into Orlando’s lap. 

“Hobbit overboard!” Orli called out. 

*

“Elijah, no,” Sean said firmly. A fresh flush bloomed beneath his makeup, spreading all the way back into his Sam curls. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. You know how much I respect you.”

“Jesus, Astin,” Elijah whispered in case anyone overheard them. “I’m not asking you to _fuck_ me. I just want to know what a kiss from a guy would be like.”

“And you’re not going to find out from me.” 

Elijah touched his arm. “Come on, Sean. Pretend you’re Sam then. Sam would do anything if I asked.” 

“I think not, Mr. Frodo,” Samwise rebutted. “Sam might repair your breeches and tend your rose beds, and he might even rub your weary feet after a long day in Mordor. But he absolutely would not stick his tongue in your mouth.”

Sensing a battle lost, Elijah sighed. “I suppose you’re right,” he admitted, then grinned. “Although I think it would make a great out-take.”

“Not listening,” Sean laughed, heading in the direction of the catering tent.

*

“Get off!” Billy shouted as Elijah crawled up the couch and on top of him. “Offoffoff! Gerr-OFF, you manky, randy bastard!” Choking with laughter, he switched his beer glass to the other hand and pawed at the puddle soaking into his t-shirt. 

“You’d be perfect, Bill,” Elijah cooed, eyes locking onto the pink lips inches from his own. “You have such little petal-perfect, rosebud pretty, teeny weeny bows for lips.” He paused, pressing a finger into Billy’s philtrum, totally mesmerized by its perfect peaks and valley. Then he softly plucked Billy’s perfect bottom lip.

“Arrrgghh!” Billy growled and snapped his teeth.

“Oh!” Elijah uttered, wide-eyed and pondering the possibilities. “Biting. That could be fun.”

Billy planted a beery palm on Elijah’s chest that sent him sprawling to the carpet with an _oomph_. “Listen, ya daft yank. It’s skirts. Women. I only kiss the girls.” He paused. “And maybe Dommeh.”

Dom cackled from the kitchen.

Beckoning Elijah in, Billy leaned forward. “Have you thought of asking him?” he offered.

*

Head down, Elijah stepped out of the men’s loo, still drying his hands on his jeans. He nearly tripped over Dom, who was casually leaning against the corridor wall, twiddling his rings.

“Heh,” Elijah said in surprise, drawing up short.

“I hear you’re looking for kisses,” Dom purred. “Are you avoiding me, Elijah?” He grinned wickedly. 

“No,” Elijah laughed nervously, then abruptly stopped. “You offering?”

“Of course,” Dom said, all cocky swagger. Pulling up straight, he stepped into Elijah’s space, backing him against the wall.

“Here?” Elijah whispered breathlessly.

“Yeah, right here, right now,” Dom murmured. He gazed at Elijah’s lips, face so close that Elijah could almost taste the rummy sweetness on his breath. Bracing his hand against the wall beside Elijah’s head, Dom angled in gently, lips softly parted, and brushed them against Elijah’s. After a beat, he slowly pulled back. “Well?” he queried.

“Okay,” Elijah gasped, eyelids heavy. “That was okay.”

“Do you want to try it this time without holding your breath?” Dom asked, merriment and gentleness and pleasure glistening in his eyes.

“Yeah, maybe,” Elijah exhaled. Dom leaned in again, more certain this time, pressing harder and wider, before ending with a little lick between Elijah’s parted lips.

“And?” Dom asked again, waggling his eyebrows.

“That was good,” Elijah said thoughtfully. “Thank you.”

“Maybe one more,” Dom suggested.

Elijah patted Dom’s cheek, ending with a pinch. “You opportunistic shithead,” he chuckled. “I think we’re good.”

*

“Don’t you even _foooking_ come near me!” Sean yelled, catching Elijah squarely in the stomach with the chalk end of his pool cue. The cigarette dangling from Elijah’s lips flew out with a little _woof_ as bottle-laden hands drew up in surrender.

“The fuck, Bean. WHAT?” Elijah shrieked, looking down at the newly-acquired polka dot dusting the front of his favorite navy shirt. 

“I’m not gonna snog ya, I’m not interested in snogging ya, I don’t wanna _think_ about snogging ya, so piss off if that’s what you’re gonna go on about.” On the other side of the pool table, Viggo guffawed and snorted, leaning against his cue as he waited for Sean to take his shot, hips doing that kinetic dance that happened whenever he was restless. 

“Research is over,” Elijah sulked, ticked at Sean’s abrupt lack of friendliness. “You’re not my fucking type, anyway.”

“Good,” Sean agreed, mollified, and he turned back to line up the ball. From the corner of his eye, he saw that Elijah hadn’t moved. Straightening up, Sean glanced at him. “Ahhh, c’mere,” he grinned, opening his cue-arm wide. As Elijah hesitantly approached, Sean reeled him into a bear hug and ruffled the crown of his head. 

“I’ll bet it was the elf,” he ventured. “Orli snogs everybody.”

*

Some piece of equipment or another had acted up, and cast and crew were grabbing a short break while it was being sorted out. 

A little ways off, Elijah leaned back against a wooden fence rail, one hairy foot resting on the bottom strut, synthetic toes waving to a rhythm, looking more Huck Finn than Frodo Baggins. He hummed a bit of U2 to kill time. Next to him, Viggo was hastily scribbling onto a notepad his latest fragment of poetic brilliance or his grocery list or some other mystery that currently occupied his frontal lobe. 

Viggo suddenly looked up and out across the field, snapping the booklet shut and slipping it and the pen into a pocket hidden within the folds of his long coat. 

“I know that tune, hobbit,” he mumbled, stepping in front of Elijah to block his view. Elijah froze and looked up at a ranger suddenly looming all around him. He swallowed against a dry throat, eyes hopelessly round and his mouth arid.

“I know that tune,” Viggo breathed as his fingers moved to cradle Elijah’s skull. Pulling Elijah gently forward, he tilted into his mouth, his tongue opening Elijah, swirling deliciously into every nook it could reach, caressing teeth and gums and tentative tongue, thumbs softly stroking Elijah’s cheeks, whiskers brushing the blush rapidly flooding them. Almost regretfully, his tongue retreated and he pulled away.

“Is that what you’ve been looking for?” Viggo asked, searching Elijah’s eyes. They stared at each other before Viggo kissed his forehead, and took a step back. “Because it should be,” he murmured, flicking the hair out of his eyes. He turned and walked away, smiling as he sang under his breath -- “I have kiiissed… honey lips…”-- fingers beating a light tempo on Anduril. 

Elijah remained absolutely still for several long moments while his skittering breaths grew more regular. A shout to his left broke his thoughts, and he looked to see Serkis, out of costume this day, looking less like a sperm from a Woody Allen movie and more like himself, waving him back on set. Elijah raised a hand in acknowledgement. 

He smiled suddenly, an enormously satisfied grin, and pushed off the fence.


End file.
